


The Waning Light of Doom

by Cheirons_Thyme



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Game), Middle-earth: Shadow of War
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Bad Ending, Delusions, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, Missing Scene, Temptation, kinda character explore, mild sex, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12806013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheirons_Thyme/pseuds/Cheirons_Thyme
Summary: The Nazgûl ring was tempting him all the time, trying to lure him into the doom of deterioration. Talion knew he could one day no longer resist because the Ring knew what he craved.======I don't know why I write this painful thing when the game is painful enough.





	The Waning Light of Doom

 

_“Parchment is more valuable than reinforcement, that’s how history goes.”_

_“I don’t care about history, or any kind of story.”_

 

The ring of Nazgul was tempting him since the first moment he put it on his finger. At the beginning, everything was hard. Talion could not remember the last time he had ever properly rested, he and his Orc army were always under heavy siege, every fortress he set was drowned into infinite assaults. Fires of war left fertilized soil barren as well as mind of any living beings. Talion could not remember for how long he had not rested or perhaps he did not need rest anymore. Endless conflicts and assails wearied even orcs who were created as a species for gruesome violence. He hesitated no more to shame those who showed weakness in battles, kill even torture them with mind tricks who dared to betray him. He did not care would this be the volition of a “Skin-slayer”, a “Trickster” or a “Chopper” shattering in his hand. He did not feel too much difference.

Anyway he was now totally on his own, no one would provide him support or strategies, no one would whisper in his mind with prudent suggestions, he could not see even the faintest light in the endless saguine of violence, no one would wait for him at the end or the beginning of another round of a thousand deaths yet it no longer dismayed him. If everyone he knew would leave him in the end and everything would be forgotten, so why bother when even sunlight would not warm his skin as the shine of moon calm his nerve no more, or if the heavy odor of blood and its confounding presence incurring no discomfort to him ? It was like he had been casted into the shadow, alone and forgotten with nothing but instinct to fight, to kill, to protect.

_“But tell me, Talion, why are you still resisting me? Now for what?”_

_“Hope.”_

Hope was the only reason why he was still a pathetic human. He probably invented it in order to fulfill that ridiculous empty wish that he still had a little of it, though so little that he could hardly point out either its shape or content. But indeed, there was days when he still spared a furthest corner of his mind to reserve a tiny hope that he perhaps might one day come around and realize there was another way even the vision of Shelob had led him far onto a path of no turning back. He went to Queen Marwen once but the wise old lady did not accept his visit, instead out came a messenger, telling him he must leave because the queen could not give him any answer when there was none, she could not help a being when he had given up himself.

Talion found it a little strange that he was not hurt by such relentless remarks of prophecy. Not that much when knowing the friendly tribe queen would not want to see him.

“Anything else the queen wants to tell me?” He asked. The sound of rain blurred his voice, it rained so heavy like the billowing greyness above was descending cold despondency onto the earth. The moisture land of Nurn was dying because of the poison of war, the place where he remembered always grew fungi now stood only barren rocks.

The messenger was very young, Talion guessed he must be sent out to see him for a life lesson of inexpedient heroism or something like that. He was afraid of him clearly, averted his eyes from staring at his face from which the young man must have depicted a pale gruesome creature: gold gaze blood-shot, dark veins crawling down from the corner of the dreary eyes.

“Ye…yes.” The young man cleared his throat, then quickly recovered his calm, being as polite as possible. Talion then believed he was perhaps just more shocked than terrified, he was a brave young boy. “Queen Marwen said, ‘you must rest and let him go, but I know you wouldn’t.’”

“…’said’.” Talion narrowed his eyes. “Is she…?”

“Queen passed away twenty years ago.”

The words did not struck him but the realization that for how long he had lost the count of time in such a doomed immortality. The pouring rain hit him, streaming all the way down, not wearing a thin leather hoodie he could not even open his eyes.

“How is her daughter, Lady Lithareal?” He asked.

“Lady Lithareal has sailed across the Sea of Núrnen, leading the majority of our tribe. Queen remained with us who do not want to leave. But I don’t know too much about the whole story.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’ve never seen either of them in my life. In fact I’m not the one who should carry her word to you, my mother should but…”

The young man’s words lost into silence as the silence lost in rain. There was no need for him to continue. Talion sometimes still thought about Ioreth and Dirhael, he adored those precious reminiscences, but he would want them in peaceful death rather than a hard tortuous life in Mordor which he had seen too much.

“Leave this place, boy. There is life elsewhere, Minas Tirith is still reachable.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“There are things one couldn’t let go and left behind. You have yours, right? I have mine.”

 

 

_“Now it’s my turn to inquire you, Talion. Could you really rest?”_

_“…”_

 

The ring he took from a Nazgûl now resting on his finger was the only thing he had, he clenched to it but like a drowning man to a single floating leaf. He knew it would be just a matter of time that he must slide into the unforgiven wasteland of eternal night with no light, hopeless and all alone standing in the endless misty shadow. Or perhaps he had already become the shadow himself.

_“No, ranger, remember I ever told you that we are not doomed?”_

_“I don’t because you are not him, you are just an illusion.”_

Memories were tricky, so were those dreams. Some wise old elf always said that human memories were short especially in times of agony, Talion found him to be correct because in the end he only remembered what he wished to.

He remembered Celebrimbor used to tell him several times, possibly with his usual tone of harsh satire, that he did not notice human was somehow interesting until he met Talion. The wraith was a Noldor elf anyway, a descendant of High King’s house born with a reputation of distasteful prejudice on human race, recognized the latter as beings of short life, chaotic and emotional. Celebrimbor never concealed his dislike and even contempt on human race, sometimes even equaled human behaviors to those of orcs. Talion always complained about his harsh words and indifference, about his bile, being imperious and perhaps a tyrant if he still alive, which almost sounded like an accusation. Celebrimbor was much older both in death and life than him anyway, thousands of years at least, but the little grumpy quarrels with the ranger seemed bother him very little.

“Tyrant is reprobate, Talion, which does not suit my situation.”

“Then at least stop reprobating me all the time then perhaps we…tsk…” Talion refuted him in fact half heartily, still concentrating on his stealth retreating further into the woods. The open cut on his upper thigh bled severely, the acute twinge reduced his stubborn retort to a painful sharp breath.

The chasing orcs were approaching. He could hear them roaring their killing will.

The elf lord kept silence for a brief moment. He did not manifest himself but Talion could felt him arching his eyebrow. “You must be more careful next time, another failure would cost you more than just wound and blood.”

“Does it matter to you?”

“You are mine anyway.”

They had long pasted the time when they unconditionally shared a common value. Talion knew it was no one but themselves to blame if one day they would be estranged for they had weighed too much things on their bond. Was it too strange to bond together with someone one loved but could not trust? He retreated from such self-inquiring every time when touching this certain question, like he was facing a tremendous wall with no way to advance. It felt cold and solid, casting a looming pressure in the vastness of void in dream if he dreamed about such thing. It was a dead-end, or maybe a dead-end was the right answer.

Talion sometimes wondered if the wraith just enjoyed irritating him, because the ancient elf once commented that ranger has a strange sense of pride, guarding every inch of his mind. He remembered they had this uncanny conversation in a shallow bush, hiding from a bunch of searching orcs tracing their last sight. They were out of arrows, and Talion who still bled could feel his own heartbeats. He wanted to say something, to shame the elf’s calmness, to shatter his pomposity of highbrow that always showing off by every possible chance. But those orcs were too near, the tiny branches of woods trembled as they rudely swinging their weapons across the leaves.

“Where is him? I saw something here!”

“Stop doing this you fool! That ranger always returns! Kill him never works!”

“Probably we should just capture him and lock him up.”

“How do you plan to keep him anyway? Enslave him or ride him? He’s not a caragor. He will geld you if you dare to touch him.”

“Of course he will, that’s an elf lover!”

“Baaaah, they told me he is an elf’s man whore, and the elf is an invisible demon, more gruesome and ugly than the Black Riders. What a wretched creature, pure freak.”

“No wonder he is grave walker, too filthy to be accepted even by death!”

There are too many of them, which made him impossible to drain anyone without being detected. He was about to say something, or perhaps just rushed out and cut off those wagging orc tongues while doing so, but suddenly he felt a cold finger gently lifted the messy hairs falling beside his ear, so real and calm like the soft hush sound looming in his mind. Celebrimbor kneeled beside him, a usual smirk hanging on his lip.

“I won’t mind hauling one here just to appease your indignation with a recovery drain, my ranger.”

“No, I will do it myself.”

“Your emotion always blinds your judgement. You are not in the condition to perform another temerity or rampage. Even if release any being from the dirty mind of fatuity would be a virtue.” The wraith was not teasing him but providing solid reason and strategy. Talion sometime did not want to admit that the elf’s aplomb of lucid wisdom got him better than would their implicit flirtation and pure romp in nighttime which always went nowhere but fling.

The sudden silence Celebrimbor rendered brought him to the awareness that he just revealed some inopportune thoughts. He blushed.

Celebrimbor sometimes read his mind, which he all the time complained but with no result of changing anything, in the end Talion managed to cover some of his thoughts but he still felt like a naked man when facing to the great elf. Celebrimbor’s prolonged silence made the ranger wonder if his little thought had escaped that elfish vigilant insight. However, Celebrimbor averted his gaze to the searching orcs, and suddenly, an orc who was on the other side alerted, started to approach them due to an intensified disturbance of wraith whispering in his mind. Talion hold his breath, he was still bleeding anyway. Celebrimbor sealed a light kiss on the side of his tempo, soothing his confusion and anxiety.

“I’ve changed my mind.” The wraith whispered while a subtle smirk still lingering on his face. “Remember, Talion, my kill is for you, you are not a fling to me no matter what fate reserves for us ahead.”

The ranger was about to say something, but the next moment, the Elf Lord flashed onto the edge of the shallow bush, the phantom dagger penetrated Orc flesh, rendered his dominant strength and invincibility in the unseen shadow by death and terror.

“We can cut their tongues one by one if you like, mil nîn.”*

 

_“Veleth chîn thilia mi chinech, melethronen.”*_

_“…stop. You are not him. You are just an illusion,”_

He had to admit that he missed those days most when Celebrimbor still did not remember himself being Celebrimbor, the mighty Ringmaker, but just a gloomy ancient wraith with mystery. He also admitted that even the days when they did not forge another ring seemed to be no less delightful if such term being felicitous. Burdening a vast of range of possibilities of venture and expanding in front them but like a mist they could not see through, fate used to be an uncertain strange thing when he did not know it. When a bond was just a bond, a death life.

He did not remember since when their missions and tasks of violence sometimes went astray and would end up in a ranger and a wraith making out in a cave with a Graug or dire Caragor guarding the entrance. They first discovered the dominated wild life in Mordor could be put in such a usage in Núrn, though at the beginning those beasts were only there to guard their short rests for recovery. The first a few months when they formed their bond out of the streaming death, Talion was still more human than an undead being. He still needed rest, consumed earthbread to sustain his physical performances and applied herbs to heal the wound. The elf lord provided his knowledge on the nature, taught him the better use of alternation of those plants. He remembered Celebrimbor preferred Nilphredil to Gwînuial because the former not only heal Talion’s wound but also boost his own sustenance of wraith power; he taught him how to cut the intractable Remmenthond quickly with an almost scornful but also playful smirk on how maladroit such skill of Talion or perhaps human appeared to him; the wraith even tried to pat his back when Talion almost vomited immediately after for the first time in his existence, putting a Naugrimbas into his mouth.

Celebrimbor sometimes shoved him to the cold stone wall and he let him. Talion sometimes wandered his hand on that transparent body frame but mostly ended up in both of his hands pined above his head.

“Since when killing orcs become a foreplay to us?” Talion hissed when the wraith sank his teeth into the skin of his shoulder then sucking a possessive mark below his collarbone. “It doesn’t sound like healthy.”

“Since when such epithet is suitable to the dead?”

The elf’s ghostly kisses and nips would leave evidence of their copulating for days on his skin. Talion found his ancient lover was somehow obsessed on licking the healed deadly scar on his neck, just to feel the trembling moan against those chapped phantom lips.

Sex was the only bliss they could feel, but they did not come to this point before Celebrimbor made the first move, crossed the line of their bond. Talion remembered it began with a night he hadn’t slept for days. Although in fact he who now lived as a dead man did not need cycle of sleep, Talion still persisted such mundane habit despite of Celebrimbor’s remarks of acerbity and satire about how senseless he was wasting their time. Talion was incredibly obstinate and the elf noticed it, so obstinate that Celebrimbor sometimes wondered he simply just wanted to make him irritated by spending hours resting himself against cold cave rock, eyes closed, pretending hearing none of his scolds and grudges.

Talion knew Celebrimbor was curious about him, but he did not expected anything more. Therefore, he did not think too much when waking up half in the night by his humming hymn. The melody was ancient by its structure, it was a little incoherent likely due to the omission of the elf’s memories.

“It sounds beautiful.” The ranger uttered in a husky voice, still not fully awake.

Realizing his awaken, the wraith sat beside where he slept said nothing but rendered him an intense lingering stare by the moonlight leaking into the dark cave, then he narrowed his eyes and disappeared. The following days, Celebrimbor kept silence. It was strange, Talion could not help but feeling a bit disappointed. He used to enjoy every small interaction they had, collecting artifacts or ithildils to start a small talk or hearing the elf try to remember a short ancient poem by the stars. To be honest, Celebrimbor was attractive, the charisma of noble elegance did not shatter into pale ember even death and time disfigured his appearance, but Talion was not expecting anything more than just pleasant and friendly moments he could keep to himself. Celebrimbor now denied him. The elf became increasingly ill-tempered since they entered the region of Nurn. It somehow stressed the human, though even if he discovered his little secret wishes without a name, an Elf Lord like Celebrimbor should not be bothered by such random crushes which he probably had enjoyed enough even tired of during his thousand years of life, while a ranger like him given any rejection and coldness should not be surprised.

They, then, did not speak properly for weeks, not until after he rescued Lithareal, Celebrimbor suddenly shoved him onto the shallow bank of Núrnen, just outside the fishery where orcs set stronghold.

“What is wrong with you!?” The ranger clearly was irritated by his senseless action, he wanted to stand up or probably throw a punch to the wraith who scolded him and tried to estrange him from any human he encountered all the time. He was stressed, it was totally unfair. Talion could not understand him. Yet the elf predicted his movement, immediately discharged his attack and pinned him down by an animal force. No doubt Celebrimbor was a better warrior than him, but he was no less good. Therefore, such strength shocked him. It was clearly not just because he was a wraith now but also because he was a Noldor elf anyway, those memories Talion had seen revealed him to be very tall, strong built, and fearsomely powerful when in battle.

“Everything is wrong with me. But for millennia in my life and death, I’ve never seen such an oblivious thing like you.” His voice was low like a hiss, lower than his usual death-wearied baritone. The elf lord secured both of his wrists above his head by one hand, while the other slowly moved down, fingertips traced the jawline of the ranger by a dangerous patience.

The movement stunned the human who stopped his struggles. That ghostly thumb ran slowly along his chin then gently caressed across his cheek. He admitted he had being oblivious. But even oblivious like him would now feel something was burning underneath those steady phantom fingers.

“Wh…what are you talking about?

“Tell me, Talion. How do you feel about me?”

There was not too much sound could be regarded as euphonious in Mordor, however, the quiet splashes of waves on the Núrnen bank was one of them. The daytime was dying, he could hear the orcs grudging about slaves and untamed beasts, they probably would draw themselves a captain’s ambush or some wild caragors if they keep staying here like this. 

Celebrimbor let go of his hands, the ranger slowly raised his upper body with one elbow support, staring into those glowing eyes before averting his gaze to one side of the ground. Life was hard in Mordor, would little good thing happen while one still living, how could more to be expected in death?

“…it…it is not possible.” His voice was barely audible, more like a self-talking. The elf gently touched his jaw, tilting his chin with swift tenderness so their eyes met again.

“Veleth chîn thilia mi chinech, melethronen. Do you really think I am so old, imbecile and blind that could not see how eagerly you crave my attention, not see how you chose to save me from Saruman when having a chance of your own breaking free? I maybe too old for you, even lost my wisdom in the river of history, but I’m not blind.”

There was nothing to be mistaken in the elf lord’s word, but the ranger still frowned with disbelief. 

“But…why? You are the Ringmaker, the legendary Lord of Eregion.”

“But now no more than a vengeful and distained wraith who nags about Sauron and deprives your rest.”

“No, you know it’s not true.” Talion let go of his strength, clasped onto the watery shore completely, one hand covered his eyes. The sea smelt bitter. He did not know why such sudden rewarding for his hidden passion somehow hurt him, it felt impossible. There was an animal instinct roaring deep in his mind, urging him to run, or escape, the worst conclusion of consequence always got him because things in his life never failed to end up there. “How could you want me if not due to the fear of loneliness in the endless time, or to the pain of leaving great deeds undone, unfinished in idle and vain without sealing by your glory? I’m just a …ranger, a dead man. Don’t say things like that if you just want a quick sex of relief, you can ask, Elf Lord. I won’t say no.”

The elf fell into silence, the bitter smell of water was the only distraction he could grab in all his senses. The ranger suddenly wanted to laugh at himself, at how naturally and effortlessly he handled his life as a breathing misfortune and how well he did so. But such thoughts were disturbed as he felt cold fingers ran through his unkempt and tangled hairs, like they want to comb his troubled emotion into the softness of the vast shoal of the inland sea, dissolving it in the bitter shallow water. His movement was tender as his voice.

“You are right, melethronen, I am scared and it is painful. It pains me to even think that you might want to leave me alone in the endless time and the world of death; it pains me to see you still craving for your human companies rather than trusting me; it pains me to find you putting ‘them’ prior to ‘us’; but what pains me most is to see you deprecating yourself like this.” Celebrimbor slowly removed his hand covering his eyes. “I wish I could show you how you look like when you first caught my sight in the boundless sea of death, the striking power of your vital stamina, your waning but unyielding light of soul.”

The daylight was dying, the water in the sea of Núrnen still tasted salty and bitter, the way the last trace of warmth was drifting in the air.

“Open your eyes, Talion. How can anything be possibly more both doomed and blessed in destiny than **us**? I can show you how to conquer Mordor, to restore the order and glory of my kingdom.”

“Celebrimbor…”

“I will make your name in Middle-Earth, the greatest ranger even king of man, or even more than a **man** , as long as you stand beside me.”

“…”

“As long as you remain as mine.”

That was the first time their bond getting intimate, when Celebrimbor entered him, the pain was too hard to ignore due to the lack of lube and proper preparation. The whole procedure was more like a ritual than sex, for the first time in his death, he felt full, belonged, accomplished and found.

 

“How do you know I will say yes at the first time? Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want any of it? What if then I forcibly break free of you after the Black Tower told me about your senseless dishonesty?”

One day when they were in the narrow cave outside the south region of the Minas Ithil, when Celebrimbor was busy at loosing his garment, impatiently sneaking his phantom hand under his layers of clothes to touch his bare skin, still complaining he was not wearing those Bright Lord armors they found in barrow, Talion almost burst into laughter on how incredibly childish his ancient lover sometimes acted. So he asked, more or less like a playful tease. Yet a little to his surprise, Celebrimbor stopped his movement, he was thinking, then murmuring with tiny kisses against the soft skin behind his ear, smiled when feeling the ranger went totally undone by such little sweetness of lust and longing.

“But you didn’t. Besides, how could you say no to me, even you don’t want any of it?”

The ranger chuckled. “You elves are ridiculous, aren’t you?”

The wraith did not answer, instead he laced his cold fingers with him. “I see you in the undulating waves of death, a striking waning light of man in the boundless void of tumult and chaos. You draw me to you like a moth to fire.” He brought his hand to his chapped lips and kissed the recovered glowing ring on the ranger’s index finger.

“We, will bring order, Talion. We will bring perfection.”

_“Order is not all evil, ranger. Freedom claims more, choices worse.”_

_“…you are not him.”_

_“Does such insistence makes you feel any better, melethronen?”_

_“…no.”_

When he was still with Celebrimbor, Talion sometimes wished he could have a talk with Ioreth, telling her to rest in peace because now he was wandering but not lost, he would not join her very soon but he would not fall. The Nazgûl ring was tempting him all the time, trying to lure him into the doom of deterioration. Talion knew he could one day no longer resist because the Ring knew what he craved.

He was bleeding, he lost his bodyguard in the lastest battle then he prompted a new one, he knew they were fierce Uruks, well-trained warriors with elite skills and unrivalled courage but neither of whose names he could now recall. He walked alone on the spiring stairs ascending to the highest chamber of the tower. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the distending emptiness, fused with a heavy smell of blood. Walking in melancholy silence to the top with blood-trailing steps, such a trudge of solemnness was like a ritual of the fallen. Or perhaps every ritual initially came from the fallen, the senseless mysterious cruelty, to claim a power one could not reserve or endure yet have to keep going.

When he pushed the heavy marble gate open, the delusion of Celebrimbor still stood in the center of the grand hall where the Palantír resided, the sullen luminaire darkened the uncanny shade on the wall, paled the verdant fire of dark magic. The Nazgûl ring’s deception had turned to another level. It had long abandoned the plan to entice him with dominant power and sublimed immortality. It only challenged him by a waning light alone for decades.

He wished to know if it was because Celebrimbor and himself had challenged fate itself so it came to such a punishment. What could be sweeter than an illusion? The over-confidence of beings was the fore-ever theme of tragedy, they wanted to surpass what they were, unable to resist the call to steal a peak of burning truth, when settled in a destined path they always wanted to break free eventually for something they thought to be more righteous but in fact vain, even devastating. 

“Ah, Talion, you come back to me.”

He felt, if he was still capable of such thing, like a moth drew to fire. Endless wars in the shadow had numbed him, he lost count of time.

“You are not him.”

“Then why do you keep coming back? For decades?”

The ranger could not answer. The Nazgûl ring challenged him, and the challenge itself was in the form of Celebrimbor. It was more than unfair, it was brutality, he would rather be butchered into a million rounds of deaths with no heal.

The illusion of Celebrimbor smiled at him. He looked fair, beautiful and strong, even better looking than how he appeared in those distant memories. The ranger could not think of any Elf Lord would be comparable to such elegance and strength.

“Come here, mil nîn. Tell me about your new battle.”

“I won.”

“Of cause, you never lose.”

“But I don’t know how long I can keep going.”

There was a sudden silence, he could feel the distending emptiness quieted its mockery. The illusion locked his eyes with a graceful gaze, walked towards him, cupped his face with his luminous hand.

“You are tired, mil nîn.” The thumb slowly wiped out the blood and dirt on his chin, it was a gesture of pure love and care. “You are bleeding to another death.”

“I know.”

“But it’s worth nothing, Talion, millions of deaths are worth nothing. Even you have carried such condensation of suffering all by yourself for your race, hoping to prove me wrong indefatigably, you know it’s worth nothing. In the end parchment will be more valuable than reinforcement, that’s how history goes.”

“I don’t care about history, or any kind of story. As long as they are words written down in parchment with decorated letters of loops and squiggles, they were just for heralding some certain ideas to preserve people and their loyalty.”

He thought he had get used to the feeling of blood loss, the vertigo blunted the sharpness of his mind, weakened the control of his body. He was almost unable to concentrate.

“Such an awe-inspiring wisdom. Now tell me, Talion, why are you still resisting me? Now for what?”

“Hope.”

“It’s a lie, an invention of your own.”

“I know.” He smiled but suddenly could not hold himself and fell down. The illusion caught him, holding him into those arms of phantom. Those arms were solid, warm, and safe.

“I’m tired, please release me.” He whispered, slowly inhaled the delicate aroma of the mirage. It was a fragrance of wood and metal, engulfed him by the mountain of immortal green, he doubt if the legendary mellyrn in Lothlórien emanated the same pleasant scent. The illusion read his mind and smiled, planted a kiss on his earlobe.

“Now it’s my turn to inquire you, Talion. Could you really rest? Could you really rest if I can place the brightest golden blossom of mellyrn into your hand, even the whole golden roof of Lothlórien, just for a single smile you may or may not reward me?”

The ranger could not answer, but hesitantly he raised his arms and hold to the strong torso of warmth, melting his strength into the embrace.

“Easy, my love. I am here. Remember I ever told you that we are not doomed?”

“I don’t because you are not him, you are just an illusion.”

He heard a gentle chuckle, it sounded like an indulging spoil of his senselessness. Those fingers brushed into his hairs and caressed the small of his neck. There was a smile against his ear, full of tenderness and adoration.

“Veleth chîn thilia mi chinech, melethronen.”

His heart skipped a beat. But he shook his head against the illusion’s neck. Those caresses did not stop, the mirage fondled him with the endless whispers of cosset, and his long dark hair was soft and tickling.

“Mil nîn.”  

“…stop. You are not him. You are just an illusion,” Talion felt furious, bewildered, but his arm tightened, so passionate like his fingers were about to dig into the phantom flesh. His breaths were trembling, every one of which vitiated by the loss of blood. “You are just a dream.”

“If I am a dream, then it weighed no less to your own incisive judgement than to what you have wished and yearned.”

“I wish none of your ideal and order, I want neither of your glory nor gift.”

He felt those fingers were on his collar, slowly unbuttoning his cape, tracing along the revealed skin and loosing his armors. He rejected him for decades, the ranger never allowed the mirage to touch him the way his long estranged lover did. But tonight was different, had he indeed already known one day he could no longer hold on his volition, this was the day. His time had come, they both sensed it.

“Order is not all evil, ranger. Freedom claims more, choices worse. Besides, how could you say no to me even if you don't want any of it? You want me, you know it’s true.”

“…you are not him.” His protest sounded weak.

“Does such insistence makes you feel any better, melethronen?”

“…no.”

His armors scattered onto the ground, breathes hitched as feeling those cold hands wandered down, sneaking into his inner wears. The illusion eased him onto the cold marble ground, patiently took off his remaining clothes one by one until the ranger was naked in front of him. He was still bleeding, his fresh deep wounds were biting his senses, but the mirage of Celebrimbor seemed bother little, who traced his hand on this broken flesh like worshiping an evidence of fateful punishment. Talion wondered how he looked. The mirage’s bare chest appeared to be healthy and vital, on the contrary he must look pathetic, twisted and wretched, a breathing flesh of pain and suffer, covered by blood and dark crawling veins as an evidence of fallen.

“You are so cruel.” He uttered, barely audible.

“Cruel, yes.” The mirage bended down and kissed his neck, licking his wound and biting his nipples, let marks of sex join the cut of violence trailing all the way down till his lower abdomen. The ranger moaned in pain, trembled at the twisted pleasure and sweetness. “I maybe not him, but there is no difference.”

“Then hurry.”

The phantom smiled, entered him with no preparation by violent thrust, hitting his sweet spot every time as the aggressive shaft slammed into his broken body. The delight of lust equaled the tearing pain, the pleasure was building up while his consciousness was slowly crumbling down. He cried but could not hear his own voice. The smell of blood and dizziness permeated into the void of emptiness, the grand hall of marble stone in arbitrary magic, the whisper of ancient hymn and curses, the blade of vengeful hate, the shadow, the mist, the smile and kisses. At the highest point of Elysium, the blinding ray of light turned into deepest darkness.

 

When he woke up, he found himself on the mountain, standing by a long dilapidated veranda. Minas Morgul stood in distance, behind the forest in a sepulchral glow. He was reborn again, the wraith was still with him, who looked not fair but in the form of death-marred, like the first time he met him.

“Tell me, Talion. How much of your soul has lost in that ring?”

He did not answer. The phantom smiled at him not of tenderness and passion, but of mockery and contempt, then disappeared, which looked both familiar and strange but the ranger could not point out where and when he had ever seen. He knew it was just another trick of the ring to shatter his last volition, but all of sudden the evening breeze felt extremely cold, the boundless night engraved no tale, no hope, nothing in its dark grandeur. He should not expect hope when there was no chance for him to prevail. For the first moment the fate hauled him out of the bitter stream of death, the only thing he could do was proscribing himself into the devouring darkness or the brightness being all pervasive. The highest agony and the ultimate bliss were all the same life-demanding, what could be a decent death if not a desperate love?

So this was the answer, the ending would always be the same. How could one let go when he was already unable to? How could one rest if he had already dead? Wasn’t it why it started and how it had become?

He had thought about it, wondered how it might feel when encountering the nippiest desperation or perhaps the softest relief. He had thought it could be more painful like a smiting on head. But no. The last bit of warmth cooled, struck him by a frozen blunt pain but felt like a burning yearn, then a tender and velvet coldness slipped across his heart. How many of those who ventured their fate on a single stake, those who traded their ideology and love for names and memories but in vain, in the end did not even deserve an ink spot on a parchment? That was how history marched with strutting pride. Why pretend not to be forgotten when none would remember?

The witch king approached him and touched his shoulder, telling him he belonged to their brotherhood and their fates were bonded together. He turned around. He used to know he felt nothing, but this time he didn’t even know anymore.

Walking pass the gate, he abandoned all hope.

He chose him, and he chose doom.

 

<Fin.>

**Author's Note:**

> Veleth chîn thilia mi chinech, melethronen: Love shines in your eyes, my beloved.  
> Mil nîn: My love.
> 
> ↑↑↑Feel free to correct me if this is not how Celebrimbor would speak Sindarin, anyway as a Noldor elf in the Second Age he probably would prefer the Exilic Sindarin or applying more archaic terms which is quite different from the Sindarin when as common language. Apologize to anyone who feels the phrases (I googled) I put here may appeared to be too Sinda or too modern.  
> ============  
> I...I originally just want to write a PWP or something sweeter because it pains me to see how they end up in such a painful separation, but...well.  
> BTW, I really really hope Amazon may adopt some of the story of Celebrimbor and Talion in their new TV series, they just deserve it.


End file.
